


Saved by the Spell

by Callisto



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Amnesia, Gen, Humor, Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-05
Updated: 2011-04-05
Packaged: 2017-10-17 15:21:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/178244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Callisto/pseuds/Callisto
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>“Don’t tell me I wear glasses and shit, and stumble around haunted houses getting geeked out by ectoplasm. Jesus. You, maybe, but... whoa.”</i></p><p><i>Sam had just taken Dean’s favorite sawed-off out of the duffel. He laid it on the bed, safety on. Amnesia-loop Dean was not so good with the weaponry.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Saved by the Spell

“We what now?”

Sam sighed. This was getting old fast. Bobby had promised it was a twenty-four hour thing; said he’d seen someone suffer the same amnesia spell at the hands of the same lame-ass coven a couple of months back. As far as Sam was concerned, much of it was Dean’s fault anyway. If he would just go into covens with a little less attitude, back talk and sarcasm, he might actually avoid pissing off some Wanna-be Wicked Witch of the West – Dean’s very own words, and the reason Sam was currently thinking about hitting Dean over the head so they could both sleep through their consequences.

He took a breath and got all of it out at once this time. “We travel around. We hunt things, supernatural things, and we save people. You pissed off a coven. Well, the leader mostly. She cursed you, you stabbed her in the heart, and here we are.”

“Uh-huh.” Dean looked around the crappy motel, clearly not convinced. He eyed Sam. Up and down.

“And you are?”

Ouch. That one hurt. “Your brother. Sam.”

Dean just nodded at that. Interesting what he accepted instantly...

“So, ghosts and shit are real and we take them out?”

...and what he didn’t.

“Pretty much.”

“Wow. That’s... that’s pretty fucking lame.”

“Really?”

Dean didn’t always react the same way each time.

“Don’t tell me I wear glasses and shit, and stumble around haunted houses getting geeked out by ectoplasm. Jesus. You, maybe, but... whoa.”

Sam had just taken Dean’s favorite sawed-off out of the duffel. He laid it on the bed, safety on. Amnesia-loop Dean was not so good with the weaponry.

“This is mine?”

“Yup. It’s loaded with rock salt shells. We make them ourselves and shoot them at spirits.”

Dean was definitely looking more impressed with what he did for a living now. Even more so when Sam showed him his machete. From a distance.

“Wow. What does that do to the suckers?”

“Nothing. It’s for vampires. We cut their heads off with it.”

Despite his blood-filled history – absolutely no pun intended – Sam did not figure himself for the blood-thirsty sort. But seriously, this was the best bit. When they got to the weapons, Dean’s eyes went wide and his whole face opened up in delight. Every time.

“Awesome!”

Yeah, thought Sam, his own smile stretching out. It really was.

Dean picked up the sawed-off. “Hey, you think I could—

His eyes closed where he sat, mouth going slack, eyeballs jittering behind his lids.

Sam watched in creeped-out fascination and counted. _One, two, three..._

“What the...Holy shit, there’s a gun in my lap!”

Reset number six.

 

“Why?”

That one came up sometimes.

Sam shifted, unsure once again how to respond.

“Why what?” he stalled, hoping for a reset. They were unpredictable. The longest had lasted nearly two hours, the shortest about seven minutes. And part and parcel of the spell seemed to be a kind of laid-back curiosity. Not too much panic once the first ‘where am I and who the fuck are you’ were out of the way. From then on, it was like being stuck with an inquiring third grader and his first science project.

Dean waved his arm around the motel room, which admittedly, was at the shabby end of the Winchester Guide to Motel Living.

“Why do we do this? You and me. No one pays us, right?”

Sam eyed him. Last time he’d been halfway through a stumbling mess of an explanation of Mom and Jess and Dad and Stanford... and Dean had promptly reset and scooted away from the dude crying into his sleeve on the sofa. So no, sinus headache notwithstanding, Sam was not doing that again. But then how to answer in a single deflecting sentence or two?

Sam shrugged, decided to try and keep it light and simple. “We’re good at it. We’ve been hunters since we were kids. Our... our Dad taught us.” Yeah. Real light there, Sam.

But Dean only nodded again, lips pursed. “But it’s just us now, you and me?”

“Yeah. Dad died. A demon killed him.” Light really wasn’t going to cut that any way you sliced it.

Dean was quiet for a bit and Sam didn’t know whether to hope for a reset or not.

“So how come it’s you and me?”

“’Scuse me?”

Dean looked uncomfortable suddenly. “I mean. Don’t get me wrong. You seem like a nice enough guy...”

“Thanks,” Sam interjected dryly.

“... but aren’t we a little old to be doing the big brother little brother thing? You do not look as if you need your shoelaces tying every morning. And hey, no disrespect, but I am one handsome son of a bitch, so how come there are no girlfriends around, no rings on our fingers? Or.. oh fuck... are we...? Am I? Dude we are _brothers_ , right? Oh fuck, we’re not, are we? You just don’t want me freaking out!”

Dean shot to his feet, both hands scraping through his hair. He glared at Sam. “We’re a goddamn couple! Man, _that_ explains the matching tattoos. It’s nothing to do with demon possession crap! I bet it’s to do with some committment ceremony bullshit. Which, your idea I’m sure, Twinkletoes. I wouldn’t do anything that freakin’ lame and—

 _One, two, and ohmygod three..._

“Okay, who are you, and what the fuck are you laughing at?”

It took Sam a minute or two to calm down enough to tell him.

 

Some time during reset number god knew what at oh dark hundred...

“Sammy?”

Amazing how that came through every time.

“Yes, Dean?”

“How come it’s just you and me?”

Oh God, kill him someone. Now.

 

Sam’s voice started to go. One solution seemed to be to get round to the weapons as fast as possible. By two in the morning he had them all spread out on his bed. Aside from a rather panicky first moment if Dean were in a position to lay eyes on them before Sam got any explanations out, it was like M&Ms in front of a toddler.

 

“Sammy?”

“Yeah?”

“Show me the guns again?”

“Sure, Dean. Right over there.”

And there he was, focused for a good half hour or so.

 

By three o’clock with less than four hours left by Sam’s reckoning, even Dean was stretched out on his bed and yawning.

“Uh-huh. And what do we do again?”

“We’re strippers. Three shows a night. More if we get good tips.”

“Huh. And you are?”

“Tired. Move the fuck over, Spangly Joe.”

 

“Sam, what the hell, dude? You’ll lay the weapons out, but cleaning them is too tiring all of a sudden? Which means I have to _sleep_ with your Gigantor ass? Morning coffee, bitch. Now. And donuts and bacon. And hey, no hugging me, you goddamn freak!”

******


End file.
